


Our Hungers Appeased

by Purplesauris



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Open Relationships, This time it's Lamberts turn, grave hag, it's lamberts turn to be loved, its very gay, lambert on the Path, mentions of geralt/jaskier, monster fighting, no one can stop me from loving all these witchers, some mild naughtiness, that's ALL you get in this, through jaskier, yes i have no chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplesauris/pseuds/Purplesauris
Summary: Lambert is a lone sense in every sense of the word- people hate him, and he hates them. It's better this way, until someone special crashes into his life with a well timed punch.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 11
Kudos: 132





	Our Hungers Appeased

Life as a witcher was  _ shit _ . It had been when he started, and it was still true years later, when people spat at his feet and tried to back down on pay. Not that he was inclined to let them- he needed coin as much as anyone else did and wasn’t nearly as concerned with how people saw him. If they saw him as a half wild beast snarling at anyone who came close, well, then they stepped a bit softer. And if they were scared of him? That was all the better for him. It made people leave him alone, and that was all he wanted on the Path. 

When he’d met Jaskier the first time he’d expected much the same, but thinking back, it’d been dumb. Here was a human who’d hiked up a mountain just to spend time with a witcher. He wasn’t expecting Jaskier’s wit, or the strength in his fist when Jaskier had punched him when he was being an ass. He was probably Lambert’s favorite human, and had held the spot for the last year. When the snows melt in the spring, Lambert will begrudgingly admit to himself that he misses the easy banter of his family and their newest addition. 

-*-

Lambert is down by the coast, hunting down a pack of drowners when he happens upon Geralt. The contract is a small one, and it won’t pay him much past bare supplies, but he hardly finds anything else in the springtime. He can hear singing when he’s heading toward the alderman's house, drifting from the tavern, and he ducks inside before he can think better of it. His eyes scan the room quickly, and he spots Geralt tucked away in the corner. He almost turns and leaves then, but the music screeches to a halt and he hears someone yell his name. 

“Lambert!” He glances over at the voice and finds Jaskier weaving through the crowd, lute quickly slung behind his back. He isn’t prepared for Jaskier’s full onslaught, and he can feel his face heat when Jaskier draws him into a tight hug. Lambert isn’t sure what to do, but Jaskier is pulling away before it gets any worse and Lambert relaxes a little. “Come sit with us. What are you doing out here?”

All of Lambert’s intentions of leaving are ruined, and he follows Jaskier to the table where Geralt is watching the two of them. He nods his head toward Lambert in greeting and squeezes Jaskier’s hand when the bard slides onto the bench next to him. Lambert plops himself down on the other side of the table and pointedly ignores the barmaid that comes over to offer him a cup. 

“Had a contract. Couple of kids were snatched up by drowners.” Talking about it out loud reminds him that he needs to go get his payment, and he almost backs out to do just that. 

“Awful. Good thing they had you here, hmm? Another witcher to save the day.” Jaskier winks at him, smiling, but Lambert doesn’t feel heroic. He feels used- tossed away when not needed and dragged back out only when his blade is useful. He knows that Jaskier doesn’t mean anything by it, but anger surges up his throat and he scoffs. Better than the words he’d meant to say. Still, Jaskier’s eyes are sad when the bard looks at him, and Lambert tenses, waiting. The emotion is wiped away quickly, and he glances up when someone in the crowd calls over to them, demanding a song. “Sorry, I’ve got to finish my set.  _ Don’t _ leave before I’m done.”

He rolls his eyes at the request, wanting to leave  _ now _ , but if there’s one thing he knows it’s that one doesn’t ignore a request from Jaskier. Lambert resigns himself to staying in the crowded tavern, breathing as little as possible to avoid smelling everyone fully for a little while longer. Geralt’s eyes track Jaskier’s movements as he entertains the crowd, and the back of Lambert’s neck crawls. He can feel eyes on him, and he isn’t sure whether it’s someone in the crowd or just Jaskier, but his fingers twitch to draw his blade and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself. 

“I need a favor.” Lambert’s eyebrows go up, and he stares incredulously at Geralt. 

“ _ You _ need a favor? From me?” Geralt rolls his eyes, sighing, and Lambert holds back another smarmy comment. He seems serious this time, and Lambert has never seen him quite this tense. “Spit it out then.”

“Jaskier has a competition. My contract takes me the opposite way.”

“And?” Geralt’s eyebrow twitches, and Lambert delights in seeing him uncomfortable this way. Realization dawns on him far before Geralt says what he wants, and Lambert’s smile is shit-eating as he leans back, crossing his arms. “You want me to take your bard.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t trust him not to get into trouble?”

“No. It’s springtime.” Geralt’s scent spikes with irritation and worry, and Lambert rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, the bard can come with me.” Relief washes over Geralt’s worry, and Lambert holds back a sneeze. Why does it have to smell like  _ grass _ ? Jaskier’s set doesn’t wind down for another hour, and by then Lambert is practically squirming in his chair. The alderman is going to think he didn’t come back and stiff him, he can feel it. Just as he’s about to say fuck it, leave to get his coin, Jaskier bows to the crowd and ducks out of their view. Jaskier’s cheeks are pink when he comes back over, and Geralt gives him a little nod when he tilts his head. Jaskier’s answering grin is blinding, and Lambert frowns. “What are you grinning at?”

“You. Geralt said you’ll take me with you.” The other man seems very pleased at the news, but Lambert frowns harder. His chest tightens uncomfortably, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of the intimacy they have or because he’s been inside too long. 

“Are you two telepathic now?” Neither of them answer, instead sharing another look before Lambert shoves back from the table and stands up. He hears murmurs behind him, people turning to look at the commotion, but Lambert is heading for the door before his shoulders can shake. Once outside his chest loosens by a fraction, and he finds his feet taking him toward the aldermans house. The old man is waiting on a bench outside and rises at the sight of Lambert. His face is impassive, but Lambert can smell the acid scent of the man’s angry disappointment. After all, if your problem is solved and the witcher doesn’t come back, who do you have to pay?

“The job done?”

“Would I be here if it weren’t?” His reply is more snide than it needs to be- he can hear Vesemir in his head, scolding him for being abrasive. Nice has never gotten him anywhere, and he snatches the bag of coin out of the air when the alderman tosses it to him. Immediately Lambert can tell it’s too light- they’d agreed on more than double this amount for the drowner nest. “Hey prick, this isn’t what we agreed on.”

“Aye, and you came back without proof. So you won’t get a copper more.” Lambert snarls, fingers curling tight around the near empty purse, and his fingers ache to draw his blade.

“Is there a problem?” A smooth voice pipes up, and Lambert’s skin crawls. Now there’s going to be a scene. “You weren’t thinking of going back on your word, were you?”

“I don’t believe that it’s-” Lambert’s blood is boiling still, but he recognizes when Jaskier steps up, lute strapped across his back and pack on his hip.

“Oh but it is. See, my friend here has done you a service, a very dirty one at that, and I think he deserves to be compensated accordingly, don’t you? You wouldn’t want witchers to  _ stop _ coming here, would you?” The threat is easily veiled, cheery even, but Lambert’s heart kicks up nonetheless. The alderman looks between the two of them, Lambert snarling with anger and Jaskier smiling politely, and grumbles under his breath. Jaskier holds his hand out, that same smile on his face, and Lambert watches in stunned awe as the alderman slaps a much larger coin purse in his hands and waves them off. 

“Be glad to see you leave.” The alderman turns from them, clearly disgusted, and Jaskier hums in delight. He calls their goodbye to the retreating man's back and turns to Lambert, expression soft. 

“Here. I think it’s best we move on, hmm? Where’s your horse?” The other coin purse is pressed into his hand, and while Jaskier seems to think better of it, he touches Lambert’s upper arm lightly. The touch makes his anger come to a startling head, overstimulated, and Lambert trembles as he turns stiffly to go collect his horse. Jaskier doesn’t touch him again, doesn’t say a word, and he follows Lambert out of town quietly. Which, given Geralt’s talk and Jaskier’s personality, is surprising. He stays quiet for the first two hours of their trek, and it isn’t until Lambert sighs, grip loosening on the reins, that Jaskier speaks.

“He was an ass.” His tone is light, but Lambert scoffs, kicking at a rock on the path. 

“I don’t need your sympathy.” 

“Well it’s a good thing I have none for you.” That hurts, digs into his heart and wrenches, and Lambert’s grip tightens on the reins once more. Leather creaks dangerously, and Jaskier takes the reins from him, shushing the horse and easing the tension Lambert was putting on the bridle. Lambert can’t stand to look at him right now, especially not after what he said, but Jaskier walks backwards and watches him. “I have plenty of other things, though, if you’d like that.”

“What, annoyance?” Jaskier chuckles, and Lambert has to concentrate to keep the scowl on his face. It’s hard to stay mad at the bard when he’s just gotten him a hefty amount of coin without violence. 

“I can do annoyance, if you’d like. I could do fury, or melancholy, or weeping sadness.” Lambert wrinkles his nose, anger trickling out of him slowly. “I don’t know what it’s like to be you.” 

Jaskier admits this quietly, and Lambert looks up to see him glance over at the water, fidgeting with the reins in his hands. When he turns back his eyes are half lidded, and something new heats in Lambert’s abdomen. He isn’t sure he likes the way his fingertips tingle. “You threatened that alderman.”

“Hmm? No, no I merely pointed out something he didn’t want to happen.”

“Do you do that for Geralt?” He isn’t sure that Geralt needs anyone to do that for him, charming bastard, but Jaskier laughs and turns to walk correctly. Tired of looking back, it seems. Lambert just lengthens his stride to catch up and walk beside the bard. 

“When he lets me. He usually just takes what they give, so long as it’s close.”

“Dumb fuck.” The words are out before he can stop them, but Jaskier laughs, nodding in agreement. 

-*- 

Lambert has no clue how to take care of someone else. He’s not used to having someone else with him, so when they finally stop for the night and Jaskier goes to gather firewood he’s taken aback. All of his most hated tasks, like fetching wood or clearing a spot for their bedrolls is taken over by a very efficient bard. When Lambert goes to shuck off his armor for the night he finds Jaskier waiting, fingers plucking at the clasps easily and taking each piece as it comes off. Lambert isn’t sure whether he should thank the man or feel unnerved that he helped, so he settles on doing neither. Jaskier doesn’t wait for thanks anyway, collapsing onto his bedroll with his boots still on. He’s asleep before Lambert even goes to hunt down something for dinner, snoring softly, and Lambert can’t imagine being that relaxed. Or trusting that his travel companion doesn’t want to kill him.

He’s still asleep when Lambert comes back, two squirrels in hand, but rouses at the sound of Lambert’s soft footsteps. “I’ll get them.”

“Get what?” Jaskier is already pulling a dagger from a sheathe under his doublet that Lambert hadn’t seen and reaching a hand out for one of the squirrels. Lambert hands them over in silent confusion, and watches as Jaskier skins them with little problem before handing them back to be cooked. “Geralt makes you do all this?”

“Doesn’t make me do anything. S’fair, is all.” Jaskier is still half asleep, and he cleans his knife off before tucking it away again. Lambert isn’t sure what to say to that, so he focuses on the scent and sound of the squirrel cooking, and passes Jaskier his portion once it’s done. Jaskier takes a moment to squeeze his fingers in thanks, and Lambert can feel the tips of his ears burn. 

For as much as Lambert bitches when Jaskier takes longer to rise than he'd like, he grows used to Jaskier's presence quickly. He barters with the contract holders better than Lambert could dream, and manages to get him rooms when sleeping outside is so much easier. He can see why Geralt let him tag along in the beginning, and why he loves him so much now. Not for doing these tasks, but for being here, willing to do them and not backing down when things don't go the way he'd like. It's part of why Lambert firmly ignores the niggling of something in his chest that is  _ definitely _ not positive feelings. When Jaskier leaves him two weeks later, he isn't sure what to do on his own at first. Setting up for the night takes longer, and he catches two squirrels automatically now. He's well fed at least, and he can't quite bring himself to stop. Just in case.

They meet again in the high of summer, when Lambert is busiest, and he almost tells Jaskier to travel alone. He doesn’t want to take a detour to drop him off somewhere, but Jaskier has no destination in mind. Rather, Geralt does, and he leaves Jaskier in Lambert’s care with a stern  _ take care of him _ . As if Jaskier needed someone to take care of him. 

Lambert is asleep one night, curled up tight on his bedroll when he hears Jaskier sit up suddenly. It isn’t unusual for him to wake up- they both seem to have a hard time staying asleep, but it’s different this time. Jaskier’s heart races in the quiet of the night, and Lambert hears him sob quietly, muffled through a hand. Fuck. Crying people aren’t his strong suit, and he considers closing his eyes and falling asleep again as if he’d never heard him. But that wouldn’t be taking care of him, so Lambert sits up with a groan. Jaskier’s noise cuts off immediately, and he looks over to see Jaskier with his back to him, staring into the fire. Something twists in his stomach at the metallic scent of Jaskier’s sadness. “Hey, get the fuck over here.”

Jaskier jolts, looking over his shoulder, and he shakes his head, smiling weakly. “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Lambert watches him as he turns back, shoulders trembling, and he hoists himself off the ground. He plops himself on Jaskier’s bedroll, stretching his legs out and resting back on his hands. He isn’t sure he should touch Jaskier, but one hand is behind the bard, creating a cradle that Jaskier leans back into slowly. Hesitant, as if any minute Lambert will shove him away and tell him to get over whatever it is that bothers him. Instead, Lambert scoffs and tugs the man closer, only relaxing when Jaskier burrows into his side. He doesn’t know what to say and Jaskier isn’t providing anything to latch onto, so he sits there until Jaskier’s crying stops, patting his arm gently. 

Jaskier doesn’t mention it in the morning when they get ready for the day, and Lambert isn’t inclined to press. If Jaskier wants to talk to him about it then he will. Jaskier seems better though, after having slept against Lambert’s side, and how he can smile the way he does after crying all night is something Lambert can’t figure out. 

“Let’s stop at an inn for the night.” Lambert dislikes the idea of being in a crowded inn, trying to sleep with the sound of other people around him, but… Jaskier seems so hopeful, so he grunts and nods his head. Jaskier gives his bicep a light squeeze, and Lambert focuses on the touch of Jaskier’s hand until he pulls away. When they get to the next town Jaskier goes to find them a room while Lambert heads for the notice board. There’s plenty of work to be done, but only one fit for a witcher to take. He follows the scent of lavender back to the inn, and finds Jaskier in the stable brushing down the horse. Jaskier glances up before Lambert has even announced himself, used to the near silent steps of a witcher. 

“Got a room?”

“Yes! The innkeep was very pleased to have us. Business is slow, I suppose. Find anything worth noting on the board?”

“Contract for something digging up graves. Either nekkers or a hag.”

“Going out now?” He nods, digging through his pack and pulling out what potions he thinks he’ll need. Best case, it’s a human desperate enough to grave rob, worst case it’s a hag. Either way, Lambert doesn’t want to deal with being unprepared, and he reaches out to pat Jaskier’s shoulder as he passes. His stomach twists when Jaskier’s smile grows, and he leaves again before he can further embarrass himself. He’s not someone who does casual touch, can stand it even, but Jaskier has gone and done something to him. Something that makes his heart ache and stomach flip into knots whenever Jaskier does  _ anything _ kind. Which seems to be all the damn time. 

The trudge out to the cemetery is grueling in the heat, and when he gets there he can tell right away that no human has done this. There are freshly dug graves, the soil soft from claws digging into it, but no trace of nekkers. The little shits have no qualms about being active during the day, but he hears no scurrying of small feet and none of the bodies are actually dug up save for the hands. Which are… fingerless. Great. Lambert looks around a bit more until he finds a small house, leaning up against one wall of the cemetery and swaying comically in the wind. How no one has spotted it before is a mystery to him, and he wants to set it on fire at the first glance. A grave hag’s hut. Hags won’t come out in the daytime unless desperate, so Lambert hunkers down behind a headstone a few feet away and waits for night. Twilight has just fallen when he hears heavy wheezing and the staggered walking of gangly, too long limbs. Lambert’s eyes snap open, and he draws his sword silently. 

There, crawling from the house and stretching, is the monster. Its body is a large mass of grey, wrinkled skin with long, slender limbs, and Lambert wonders if he were to cut the limbs off, would it roll? He stands from behind the grave, casting quen to give himself a bit of protection as he lunges, rolling just under the tongue that shoots out in his direction. The hag smelled him long before she saw, and Lambert rolls again when she screeches and lunges for him with razor sharp claws. Her claws catch his side, tearing against chainmail and leather, but he’s unscathed for the most part and retaliates with a vicious sweep of his sword. It severs two of the fingers on her hand and sends her screaming, clutching at steaming flesh. 

Lambert isn’t one to dance around, so he takes the offensive, slashing and shoving through blows that could have been dodged. The grave hag does everything she can, yelling and snarling and lashing out with lightning speed, but Lambert lets all of his anger, any frustrations pouring from him into the fight. Vesemir had always warned him it made him vulnerable, but it serves him well now, allowing him to cut the hag down with a sword through the chest, ending a fight he’d thought would take much, much longer. This time, Lambert takes a trophy, intent on getting his coin  _ without _ Jaskier’s help. 

He treks through the city reeking of rotting flesh, the hand of the hag clutched tight in his fist. The alderman takes his sweet time opening the door and tries to close it upon seeing Lambert’s face. A foot in the door keeps it firmly open, and Lambert holds out the hand, ignoring when the other man recoils. 

“There was a grave hag stealing fingers from the bodies.” The alderman looks over the hand with suspicion, as if Lambert had taken a random hand from a body. He doesn’t have much to stand on- the skin is obviously not human and the fingers are freakishly long, tipped with large claws. The alderman drops the hand in the dirt, nose wrinkled, and dips back inside to grab a bag. Lambert can hear the coin clinking together inside, and he holds a hand out for it. The bag is dropped into his hand, and Lambert’s fingers close around it before the man can fully pull away. His hand jerks back away from Lambert, face screwing up in disgust, and Lambert scowls. “Next time there’s a shack in the graveyard, get a witcher sooner.”

“Aye.” Lambert turns on his heel and storms away, snarling when he hears the alderman spit into the dirt. He’s in a pisspoor mood already, but the innkeeper almost bars his access to their room and by the time he argues enough to be let inside he’s fuming. All he wants is to get out of his armor and get some  _ sleep _ for fucks sake. The room is bright when he opens the door, candles lit in every nook and cranny Jaskier could find, and Jaskier is sat by the fire, scribbling away in his journal. He looks up when the door opens, smiling at Lambert and closing his book with a snap. He stands up, smile waning a bit when he sees the angry red flush creeping up Lambert’s neck.

“What’s wrong?” Lambert shakes his head sharply and Jaskier leaves it alone. He comes over to help Lambert with his armor, tugging and removing pieces as they go along. Lambert feels better with the armor off, less pressed in, but Jaskier’s fingers slide over his side and he grabs his wrist on instinct. Jaskier doesn’t react, but Lambert’s grip is tight and he can feel Jaskier’s bones grind. He relaxes his fingers one by one, snarling, and he expects Jaskier to back away from him. To kick him out. But Jaskier only frowns. “Lambert-”

“Why do you do this shit?”

“Do what?” Jaskier seems confused, and Lambert snarls again.

“Constantly touch me, help me with shit and insist on arguing with people for my sake?”

“Because I  _ care _ for you, you dolt!” Jaskier’s voice rises, his concern turning to annoyance, and Lambert growls angrily. He’s not sure what he’s doing, demanding answers, but he’s so  _ sick _ of people using him and he just wants it to stop.

“I don’t  _ want _ you to!” 

“That’s too  _ fucking _ bad! You don’t get to choose who I-” Jaskier is cut off when Lambert snarls, leaning forward and smashing their lips together. Jaskier goes rigid all at once, and Lambert is hyper aware of his rejection. He goes to pull away, lets go of Jaskier completely, but Jaskier surges forward and kisses him again. Lambert’s skin itches madly at the heat that licks through him, and his hands clutch at Jaskier’s sides. Jaskier’s fingers grip the material of Lambert’s shirt, twisting it, and Lambert hoists Jaskier up. He isn’t sure of what he’s doing- he’s angry and hurt and he shouldn’t be kissing Jaskier, but here he is. Jaskier doesn’t seem worried- his thighs go around Lambert’s hips, holding more of his weight, and he gasps when Lambert stumbles, Jaskier’s back hitting the wall. Lambert feels himself growl when Jaskier bites his lower lip, and Jaskier laughs softly. Lambert kisses him harder for it, presses him bodily into the wall, and doesn’t let him down until Jaskier begs. 

What they did last night comes back to him in bits and pieces in the morning, and Lambert's heart clenches painfully in his chest. He's had lovers before- brief flings or visits to a brothel, but never with some he  _ knows _ has someone waiting for them. What makes him feel worse isn't that he's betrayed Geralt, but that he  _ wanted _ to. To have a bit of the happiness that Geralt always seems to get. To have someone who wants him, and doesn't have to be paid. That's what makes his heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest, because how is he going to face Geralt next? He's drawn from his thoughts by a hand sliding low over his stomach, tickling around scars and threatening to dip lower. Warmth pools in his stomach immediately, but he grumbles softly as Jaskier goes up on an elbow. 

His neck and shoulders are a mess of bruises and bite marks, but if he's sore he gives no indication and Lambert draws him down for a kiss. Jaskier's hand stops then, fingers splaying over his stomach, and he focuses on deepening their kiss, morning breath be damned. Lambert is the first one to pull back, and his voice is rough when he speaks.

"Hell of a night, Jask. You okay?" Just this once, he tells himself, will he show concern, raising a hand to brush over some of the marks he left. Jaskier leans into the touch, smiling.

"Never better. You?" Lambert takes a second to think. Besides the guilt eating away at him now, his anger from last night has petered off, let out in other ways, and other than being pleasantly sore he can't complain. 

"Counting my last hours closely."

"Hours? I'd say you have more than that left."

Lambert scoffs, pressing on one of the bruises and pupils dilating at the breathy moan Jaskier lets out. "Not once Geralt sees what I did."

"That's what you were thinking about, wasn't it?" Jaskier leans down, catching his lips in a bruising kiss and pulling back sooner than Lambert would like. "He's not going to hurt you. He  _ did _ tell you to take care of me."

"That's a shit excuse and you know it."

Jaskier sighs at that, sheepish, and he shrugs. "I meant to bring it up to you last night, after you'd gotten back. Geralt uh, knows about my affections, let's call it that. I would have told you sooner, but  _ someone _ was being a prick last night and kissed me before I could say a word."

"Oh." 

"Yes, oh would be about right. You didn't do anything wrong, or that Geralt and I didn't talk about. And," Jaskier muses, looking down at him. "I'm going to need help when the next full moon comes, I think." Lambert grins at that, laughing until Jaskier leans back down to kiss him breathless. 


End file.
